


Together, we wait for silence

by twistedluminarystudent



Category: Undertale (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Chara (Undertale) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Chara (Undertale) Protection Squad, Child Abandonment, Child Death, Codependency, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Everyone Needs A Hug, Flavor Text Narrator Chara (Undertale), Frisk (Undertale) Has PTSD - Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Nonbinary Chara (Undertale), Nonbinary Frisk (Undertale), Past Child Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Post-Undertale Genocide Route, Psychological Trauma, Queerplatonic Relationships, Sans (Undertale) Remembers Resets, Spoilers - Undertale Genocide Route, Spoilers - Undertale Pacifist Route, Summary Might Change, Undertale Genocide Route, player is represented as a puppet, sad stuff, this game is messed up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-19
Packaged: 2019-11-09 05:29:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17995784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedluminarystudent/pseuds/twistedluminarystudent
Summary: Their mouth doesn't have any petals in it this time so they grasp the opportunity with fingers matted with a disgusting mix of dust and blood and just laugh to their heart's content like a fucking psychopath- a demon like their mother pegged them for.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Together, we wait for space  
> Together, we wait for silence  
> And under your breath you spoke of innocence
> 
> Madeon - Innocence

Hideously yellow petals litter the ground in a pool of their own blood. They cough. Once. Twice. Thrice. Over and over again in an endless rewind. Slick red decorates the outlines of their mouth, drippy and vivid.

Their throat feels painfully raw and it _hurts._

Everything just _hurts_ so fucking much that they want to cry and sob and tear at the flower bed in a fit of some unidentifiable emotion that's too fucking incomprehensible, too  _much_ for them to understand.

Azzy. Innocent, _normal_ , Asriel. They can just imagine his look of horror at the grisly scene of his fucked up sibling heaving out their own life in front of him. For a moment, they feel like laughing. It's just so funny. Reality's nothing but a big joke because this  _hurts._ They did this to themselves and it's the funniest thing ever. But of course they can't even do _that_ because their mouth's full of blood, fucking blood and bloody petals and poison.

They can't really see Asriel. He's in front of them, they think. They aren't really sure, though. Their vision's gone blurry and tinged with murky darkness at the edges. The slushy fluid beneath their hands is slippery and they have a feeling that they'll crash forward into their own vomit if they move. Buttercups taste like shit. Like their tongue's on fire and they want to scream really bad but their too busy coughing and spluttering out their juices and blood so once again they're deprived of their wishes.

They cough again and their vision momentarily gets a bit clearer, mercilessly giving them a horrifying view of the sheer amount of red splattering their hands.

A tiny seed of fear plants itself in their chest. It grows rapidly, irrationally, mocking them because-

_-they fucked up oh god they fucked up Azzy doesn't deserve this the dreemurs don't deserve this they deserve this fucking demon should just burn in hell-_

"- **b u r n ing in h e ll."  
**

They're going to kill him. They're going to wipe that dumb grin off his face. He's nothing like his brother and they're just burning with rage. He's a fucking obstacle in their pursuit for power and _he's in the way-_

Bones come crashing through them, their vessel, Frisk's puppet-ed body bleeds like that time they were choking on their own blood so long ago and they _laugh and laugh and laugh._ Their mouth doesn't have any petals in it this time so they grasp the opportunity with fingers matted with a disgusting mix of dust and blood and just laugh to their heart's content like a fucking psychopath- a demon like their mother pegged them for.

Sans won't last long. Not long now. They know this after around their hundredth try and they've gotten so far into his round of attacks before dying again, their laugh echoing into the nonexistent phase of limbo prior to loading, interlaced with The Third One's frustration and Frisk's ever-present determination.

Their laugh is hollow and honestly the most depressing thing ever, they realize later, when Frisk pauses and _just looks at them with the dumbest look in heavily lidded eyes as if asking whether everything's okay and they want to snap and tell Frisk to fuck off because they just killed their own fucking Mom and laughed- laughed like it was funny and they're still laughing and steadily ignoring Frisk's dumb question because humans are evil and they're the most evil of them all with The Third One only following close behind it's all their fault isn't it they're the one who did this they're the fucked up one with the fucked up mind and the fucked up suicide and the puppeteer was just showing them what they were capable of doing- what they were capable of feeling with the dust flowing through the crevices of their loosely pressed together fingers as they just laughed and laughed laughed-  
_

_-laughs like they're the villain in a horror movie and shows off this new trick they learnt while contemplating their murderer status in a corner of someone else's mind._

" **No?"** They ask, their mouth drooling and dripping black, inky goo, the state of their corrupt, nonexistent soul. They smile, grin widely, and the goo drips even more and they feel numb with anger as their vision reddens and they can feel their eyes melting down their makeshift face and they probably look horrifying- _demonic_.

**"S i n ce when were you the o ne in co n trol?"**

They laugh.

They slice.

They erase existence and laugh into the void, they ignore the hunched, smiling figure looking upon them and laugh.

Frisk is forever silent in a corner of their mind, dissatisfaction and pain perfectly blending together into a haunted acceptance.

 

 _But nobody came_ -

- _The reset button glows, the only luminous object in the midst of so much darkness._

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> boy, do these kids need help or what?

They dream of buttercups.

Yellow, dainty petals circulate in an imaginary breeze through their dream-scape against a blue backdrop.

They can almost smell the pollen.

_It's a beautiful day outside..._

It's honestly the most ironic thing, they think, because going by how much they've been through already, they think it would be more logical to dream of something like Toriel turning into dust in front of them over and over again. Death is pretty memorable, they suppose, but honestly, it was _their_ decision and besides, their suicide just feels _old_ now. Like nothing more but a distant memory. A wound that long-since healed into a scar.

Well, healed wouldn't be the right word. They suppose a more fitting analogy would be that it had been outshone by every other metaphorical injury they faced.

They're fucked up, aren't they? The actual highlight is that they're the ones who did this to them-self.

_Burn in hell, demon._

A figure materializes itself in their field of imagination.

It's them.

Their eyes are red. It's them.

Black tears drip down their blurred face and they open their mouth and-

_It's them-_

A flimsy-looking knife is in their hands. Their sleeves are blue. Toriel looks at them, her furry face fixed in an expression of pain.

Frisk.

A rain of dust falls onto the place where she had stood.

A new figure emerges from the dust and leaves. A disconsolate, crying toddler begs their mother to return, their tiny body convulsing with violent sobs.

Frisk. _Frisk._

_"Chara!"_

Eyelids snap themselves open and the first things their physical senses pick up are the numerous lines of moisture running down Frisk's cheeks and into their hair.

Frisk is panicking and Chara feels blisters down their throat and darkness at the edges of their vision.

 _Someone_ screams, or maybe it was both of them, and the raspy, _miserable_ sound claws through the little red heart and it _hurts._

Frisk's fingers desperately grab onto themselves, nails digging through cloth into their shared vessel _._

_Buttercups are yellow, Chara remembers and looks down and sees yellow._

_Yellow encompasses their entire being, petals grip their body and traps them in hell._

_Yellow flames lick their skin._

_This time, they are sure that the shattering sound like broken glass ringing out through the cavern is solely them._

_Frisk grabs their head, fingers burying into a mess of brown twig-like hair, silently crying in a lonely enclosure of misery. Chara screams until their throat feels raw and the blisters have spread into their stomach and their mouth's bleeding again._

_Deep splats of red have joined the bed of yellow and Frisk sobs, a mirror of the abandoned child._

_Darkness dances across their vision **.**_

_Frisk. Frisk. They have to-  
_

 

_**"FRISK!"** _

The hoarse call echoes through the cavern and the person in question mentally freezes.

Silence envelopes the mind of the fallen child.

 _Ch-Chara?_ Frisk doesn't talk. Neither do they use their hands to sign it. A feeble mental prompt, instead, was what they chose to communicate by this time.

They sound weak, tired.

Chara blames themself, naturally.

They don't comfort people, humans, monsters but this was _Frisk._ Frisk who'll accept anything. Frisk who weakly contradicts their being a heartless demon. Frisk who still fucking believes that they have a chance. Just Frisk.

For Frisk, they'll do so.

 _I-it'll be okay._ They say. Frisk needs to know this. They _need_ this.

Even the most determined of all craves conviction.

Chara feels their eyes well up with emotion that's not theirs and, after a second of hesitation, feels arms surround themselves.

It wasn't even close to a real hug but they suppose they'll appreciate the sentiment.

 _W-We'll fix it,_ Frisk agrees with renewed hope, but still hiccups and tightens their arms when they sense Chara's approval.

 

 

 

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> no hugs in this one, sorry.

The comedian _knows_.

They are sure of this simple fact. It's in the way he follows them warily, watching their every move as if they could turn into a murdering lunatic any second. It's in the way he regards them with a gaze filled to the brim with suspicion even though he doesn't even have any fucking eyeballs, just luminous dots that _somehow_ looked mistrustful anyway. It's in the way he speaks, as if reading off a well-practiced script, the words old and over-used.

What convinced Chara most of all was the way he made them notice.

Those subtle but not-so subtle movements he made right in front of them. The way he sweeps his eye lights up their body, scanning for any sign of dust or knives.

A warning. Directed to solely Chara alone. Not Frisk.

 _He_ _knows._

Not only does the comedian remember, but he's _also_ figured it out and the thought makes them want to laugh but if they do that then Frisk will probably worry so, for now, they'll restrain themselves.

Bitterness spreads like a disease through their half of the shared soul and it intensifies when Frisk sends a wave of concern towards them because now they've just done the very thing they've been trying to avoid.

_Nothing can just be easy, can it?_

Frisk still seems concerned and it's ruining their concentration at solving a particularly difficult puzzle in the shape of Papyrus's face so Chara waves it away with an _I'm fine_. Frisk isn't fooled in the slightest but they'd be a fucking hypocrite to point it out so they just send back a wave of reassurance like the saint they mostly are and Chara grins painfully in response like a maniac.

They imagine a tiny skeleton lurking in the shadows, left eye-hole burning with blue magic and the hairs on Frisk's neck stand upright to the image.

It's almost impressive because they don't think anyone else had even _considered_ the possibility. Not when the _human_ had been killing of all their dear ones. That was what mattered. A human... no, a murderer climbed a mountain.

_You feel your sins crawling on your back._

He's right though, isn't he? Monitoring them is probably the only way to stop them from getting drunk on power again. The puppeteer's gone, a bittersweet relief because evil or not, the human had been impossibly skilled at battling and Frisk nor Chara are sure when they are going to require those services again.

Sans might honestly attack them now, for example.

Actually, he probably won't do that. He actually seems to like Frisk, for one, which is understandable because honestly, Frisk's a fucking angel.

An angel with a shit-ton of mental scars and trust issues but well, compared to Chara, they're golden.

Chara considers the fact that _anyone_ compared to themself would probably appear to be glowing but, whatever.

At least Frisk seems to be having a good time, excluding the occasional nightmare or so.

 

" **... y ou'd be de ad w he re you st and."**

 

_"...bu rn ing i n h el l."  
_

_Their soul shatters into a million pieces as their body is pierced by an avalanche of Femurs, a ghost of a laugh playing on their bloody lips._

 

_Bony fingers cradle their bloody figure, a frozen grin stuck on their face. Red decorates the ground._

_"If we're really friends, you won't come back."_

_The tears that slip out are definitely just Frisk again. The smile crumples anyway._

 

_"heh, didja really think you would be able-"_

_An indescribable amount of rage and frustration fills their mind as they **miss** again and they strike out of their own volition because they're tired, so fucking tired of this nonsensical loop of death and defeat, that they just leap forward. _

_Their hand swings and their mind screams and the blade slices cleanly through the easiest enemy for the first time._

 

_A laugh echoes endlessly through the empty corridor._

 

 

They would, they really would.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chara: imma eat buttercups to die  
> frisk: D:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wat if i call this a character study for the sake of not having to think of a plot???

They find some tapes.

The minute Frisk slips in the first one and they hear their mom's voice, the both of them freeze. Frisk is filled with the light kind of shock that comes with hearing someone whose voice they remember always seeming to have an undertone of aching loneliness to it now coming out of worn-down speakers carrying only pure joy and happiness. They recover quickly enough and only becomes overcome with curiosity almost immediately after.

Chara blanches for an entirely different reason altogether.

Memories storm into the mental structure they've built up in their consciousness they gladly refer to as a mind, unwanted and uninvited.

The smell of butterscotch-cinnamon pie invades their nose and they feel warm fur on their face. There's wet dirt on their hands and petals that aren't yellow blooming in the patch of land set aside specially for them. Laughter fills their ears and they smudge someone's fur with a crayon, smiling at the reaction they cause.

It's warm.

They don't know what to feel.

They don't know _how_ to feel.

Almost literally, they think, to be honest. Because they're technically dead, something they ponder over whenever Frisk gets curious and decides to explore acres of land they themselves have already wandered through thousands of times in the past. Anyway, they're dead. They don't have a brain anymore. It's in their body, which has been chucked away a hundred feet underground protected by some sort of magic they wouldn't understand even if they try. So, whatever they're feeling right now is probably just an echo or cheap imitation of what actual emotions would be.

Frisk denies it, saying that feelings and stuff are apparently a part of who they are along with some other disgustingly sentimental concept, but that's not the point.

And anyway, Chara's own concept validates the hypothesis they've formed over the current issue, so it's clearly more accurate.

Their dad laughs, and they think of the meek, sympathetic attitude of the king who asked for a cup of tea in the face of a murderer. The flower who fantasized about saving the world and cried when he found them slitting their limbs open. The former queen who banished herself into the Ruins, sacrificing her happiness in turn.

They think about love.

 

_Ahh, you've ruined it, haven't you?_

That... is undeniable.

_Pity, they were such a nice. happy. family._

_..._

_Do you remember the buttercups?_

...

_That's hilarious._

_..._

**_Wanna have a bad time?_ **

 

They're just... tired.

They're tired, they decide, as they hear Asriel's laughter (he's on the top of the list they've made on those who they've murdered) ringing through their shared head as Frisk's innocent confusion grows.

Sometimes, they wonder why they still exist, when their body's a hundred feet underground and their soul's long gone. Yet, their spirit has somehow still managed to bind itself onto another unlucky being, burdening someone else yet again.

Are they a game? Is that it? Someone to play around with just for the sake of ridding boredom?

That's hilarious.

...Or maybe this is just some form of punishment. That must be it.

Accusations are whispered into their ears. Fingers dig into their shoulders like knives.

_Demon child. Red-eyed freak. Monster. **Monster.**_

Hilarious.

 

Frisk wonders why Chara dreams of yellow petals. They try to hide it, for the sake of politeness and probably some attempt to not end up triggering someone they share a body with, but Chara knows. Chara can feel the light streaks of curiosity that subtly thread themselves through the folds of their mind whenever Frisk finds themselves surrounded by petals encircling their body like the things actually know they're being intruded upon.

Their subtly burning desire for an answer is thoroughly satiated when the pieces finally click together.

The growing horror that floods into Chara's consciousness is an intruder.

The silent acceptance and empathy was predictable.

What Chara doesn't understand, is the genuine sadness that comes along with it.

 

 


End file.
